


Kiss from a Pre-War Rose

by whiim



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28266201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiim/pseuds/whiim
Summary: “Unrequited love is love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved,” she crouched down before him, her thumb grazing his cheekbone, “is that what I have done to you, my love?”----------------------------------------------------------------------------She knows what it means, she doesn’t even need to look at the tiny rose for any longer than a second.“Dee,” she croaks, those beautiful eyes full of tears. This was the last thing he wanted.
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor
Kudos: 9





	Kiss from a Pre-War Rose

The first time it happened was ironic. To the point where he would’ve found it amusing and  _ definitely  _ would’ve joked about it if it hadn’t shaken him to his core. 

It was ironic because he was silently remarking to himself that the colour of her lips and the blush on her cheeks from the heat was so much like the petals of a rose, and then he felt the tickle in the back of his throat. 

He coughed a few times, which got her attention from across the Red Rocket. She glanced over with worry in her eyes, worry that made his chest  _ ache,  _ and he waved her off with a hand. The woman that had stolen his heart smiled, and returned to adding ballistic weave to their clothes, her fingers moving quickly with her stitching. 

Deacon clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to muffle the coughs as they burst from the back of his throat. His body shook with each one, and his first thought was he was allergic to the herbs she’d used in the soup. But when he pulled his hand away, and that small red petal was resting in the palm of his hand, his heart  _ sank.  _

“Everything alright, Dee?” 

He closed his palm, crushing the petal, and lifted his gaze, she was standing closer than before, a hand stretched out, an even more worried look in those beautiful eyes. 

Those eyes that he always got lost in. Cold, but a tranquil grey-blue like the ocean. Or how he’d always thought the oceans would’ve looked before the bombs. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Charms. What are you worrying about me for?” 

Vanessa smiled sweetly and leant down, resting a hand on his cheek, he could feel his heart begin to hammer in his chest, and her hand felt oddly cold against his skin. “Mm, you’re so warm, Dee, are you coming down with a fever?” She moved a hand from his cheek and pressed the back of her hand to his head, her eyebrows drawing together, “hmm, come on, we should get you out of the sun, let’s go lay down inside.” 

She pulls him into the old truck stop, starting to fuss over him, but all Deacon can think about is how she is only making it worse. 

*

He’d almost forgotten about the whole dreaded thing, until the day they stumbled upon Nuka World. 

Perhaps stumbled wasn’t the best word, they’d found it intentionally, _sort_ _of_. The radio station had been bugging her for a while, so they’d headed there to investigate. And when he’d tried to convince her to not run headfirst into the park, she’d felt challenged by him, and both had lashed out at each other. It made that familiar tickle rise in his throat, and it only got worse when they both calmed down. When she punched him on the arm with a playful grin and saluted with a wink as the tram took off from the station. A petal came up then and there, as he watched her speed off into the desert. Yet again he stared at it in the palm of his hand before shredding it up, pieces of it scattering with the light breeze. 

But what surprised him, was that it got  _ worse _ .

Somehow she  _ beat  _ Colter. The raider previously in charge of Nuka World. Deacon felt a little bad at having low expectations for her again, but he couldn’t help feeling disgusted in the fact the thought crossed his mind that if she died, he’d be free of what ailed him. 

The other raiders cleared out of the arena, but Deacon stayed back, watching. Telling himself he was doing it out of his  _ platonic _ care for her. Telling himself that he only worried that the raider she was left with was going to hurt her. Telling himself it wasn’t some obsessive jealousy. 

_ Some obsessive, _

_ Unrequited, _

_ Love for her.  _

Yet, as she stared up at the raider with an odd adoration in her eyes, he felt what he later realised to be thorns clawing at the inside of his throat, he held in his coughs as best as he could, stumbling out of the Cola Cars arena before setting them free. Splatters of blood sprayed onto the floor, and then a lone rosebud hit the ground, its petals curled up tightly. 

It was the exact same colour as her lips. Those lips he wanted to kiss. Those lips he wanted to see smile at him that way, the same way she used to for MacCready, and now she did for the raider.

*

And of course Deacon remembered the first time he coughed up a full flower. 

It was the day she’d gone missing. The first time he actually spoke to Gage, and the first time he realised that maybe raiders weren’t just heartless junkies.

The moment he saw her on the floor in that old house, with a slave collar wrapped around her neck, slightly too tight that it was bruising, her own blood smeared across her face, her beautiful blonde hair cropped below her ears. It made his chest ache. His heart pounded. He felt sweat bead along the hairline of his wig. 

But when it was; “Gage? Is that you?” she croaked out, instead of his name, his stomach dropped. She hurt him, oh  _ Christ,  _ she hurt him so good, in all the worst? Best? Ways. 

“You look as pretty as a cactus flower, boss. We’ll get you cleaned up and you’ll be back to your damn fuckin’ supermodel self. Even with the short hair.” 

“Deacon’s the liar, not you.” 

That stung. It was at that moment he began to cough, rubbing his throat to try and soothe it. When Vanessa didn’t even look in his direction, it threatened to get worse. His hands trembled and he swore he could hear someone babbling to him. But that couldn’t be right. It was only him, Gage and the woman he was in love with, and they were locked in conversation as he removed her slave collar. 

He could taste the blood in his mouth as he held in coughs. 

  
  


The spy walked just behind them, trying desperately to ignore the raider’s hand on her back, and the reverence in her eyes when she looked up at him. 

And when he left after they argued, he left without a trace. 

Except for a single rose, left on the table inside Fizztop Grille.

Getting it up out of his lungs didn’t hurt nearly as much as loving her. Loving her hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced, and that thought running through his head only made him feel worse, as he considered the things that he’d gone through with Barbara. It fuelled his internalised guilt and paranoia. 

*

“Unrequited love,” she began, standing in front of him with her back to him, “doesn’t it sound so beautiful, Deacon?” 

She turned to look at him, smiling in a way that looked tender, yet seemed so threatening. One of her hands reached down to cup his cheek, and he leaned into it. Oh it was so  _ loving _ . He’d been wanting this so bad, and now here she was, loving him. 

“Unrequited love is love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved,” she crouched down before him, her thumb grazing his cheekbone, “is that what I have done to you, my love?” 

“Vanessa I-,” she tuts, and cuts him off with a kiss to his forehead, “I’m sorry, Deacon, I love you, you know that?” 

“You… do?” 

“Of course I do, silly. How could I not?” She laughs and it’s like music to his ears, and when her hand slips from his cheek he misses her touch immediately. He wraps his fingers around her wrist lightly, and her face softens as he pulls her hand back to his face, “I love you too, Charms,” “I know.” 

Her hand leaves his face again, to wrap around his throat. She flexes her grip and at first he thinks it’s a joke but when he’s struggling to breathe and she still doesn’t let up, he begins to panic. 

His eyelids are getting heavy already, his perfect little Charmer is stronger than he thought, and she’s  _ hurting him.  _

_ She’s hurting him so good.  _

“Deacon?”

_ Des?  _

Vanessa flinches at the sound of the other woman and let’s go of his throat, her hands falling to her sides.

“Deacon!”

His Charmer is backing away from him and he reaches out for her, to pull her back, but she slips right through his fingers, like silk, like the cold water her eyes resembled. 

He coughs and splutters, forcing as much air into his lungs as he can. Desdemona is standing before him suddenly, instead of his Charmer, she’s holding something in her hands, but his eyes are too blurry to focus on whatever it is. Lack of oxygen to the brain will do that. 

Desdemona wraps a hand around his arm and pulls him through into the catacombs, pushing him to sit down on one of the coffins, she disappears and returns a moment later, something in both of her hands now. 

Deacon continues to cough, petals spraying from his mouth, he tries desperately to hide them, stuffing them into the pockets of his jeans, pushing them off the side of the coffin. 

“Deacon there’s no point hiding it. I  _ know  _ what’s going on.” 

His eyes focus, in one hand she has a fistful of petals, in the other is a box of Fancy-Lads. She throws the petals onto the floor and opens the box, showing him the contents. “I don’t want any…  _ shit, _ ” it was a box he’d been stashing the petals in. It was almost overflowing. She drops the box and folds her arms over her chest. 

“Why didn’t you just  _ tell me _ ? Why didn’t you tell  _ anyone _ ?” She crouches down and presses a hand to his arm, he’s staring straight through her, as if she isn’t even there. “Charms? Where’s Charmer gone?” He mutters under his breath. 

“Deacon, who is it?” 

He finally focuses on her, an entirely blank expression on his face. The leader of the Railroad looks down at one of her best agents, she’s worried for him, she knows about this disease and she knows what it can do. 

But, she clearly isn’t getting anything out of him. So she changes the topic, onto the other reason she’d gone to speak with him, “you and Charmer will be going on a mission when she arrives and… it’s her, isn’t it?” 

All he can manage to do is nod. 

“But isn’t she,” he nods again, and cuts her off by doing so, “married? Yes. She got married after we took the Institute.” 

Desdemona feels her heart sink, she can only imagine what he is going through. “You know there’s probably  _ someone  _ out there who can perform the operation, I’ll find out immediately.” 

It’s all she can offer. It’s not ideal. Before the war, removal of the flower caused by the Hanahaki disease was difficult, not impossible, but it required a long and sometimes risky surgery. Now? With no qualified doctors? No decent clean equipment and a lack of chems? The chances of failure or even death were…  _ high.  _

Deacon shook his head and smiled, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand, and then wiping the blood and spit on his jeans, “either way it’s gonna hurt, right? What happens if I get it removed?” 

Desdemona shuffles uncomfortably. “ _ Des?  _ What happens?” 

“You’ll lose all feelings of love. I don’t know if your memories of her will go too, I’ve never gone through it. That’s if it’s successful of course.” 

“Then there’s no point. I’ll probably just fall in love with her all over again then, huh?” He chuckles and it falls away into weak coughs. He takes the water she offers and swigs it, clearing his throat once or twice. The scratching feeling at the back of his throat just wouldn’t let up. 

“I don’t know if that’s possible, Deacon. We won’t know if you’ll ever be able to love at all.”

“Then I don’t want it.” 

Desdemona can hardly believe what she is hearing, is he joking? Has he lost his mind? She knows those inflicted with Hanahaki disease often suffer with hallucinations, maybe general insanity comes with that. 

“Deacon without it you will die.” She says it coldly, no hint of her thinking twice, her eyebrows furrowed, showing her displeasement. He grinned, “we’re all gonna die sometime anyway, Des, I’m living on borrowed time as it is. I’ve not been a good man,” his expression drops, “Des, she’s the best thing that’s been in my life in a  _ long time,  _ why would I just throw that away? It hurts, but loving her gives me some degree of happiness to get through the goddamn day, even if it kills me.” 

“Then you need to tell her, Deacon, she has a right to know that she’s going to  _ kill you _ .” 

“That would make her unhappy, why would I want to do that?” 

Des opens her mouth to protest when she’s interrupted by the  _ click-clack  _ of heels jogging through the catacombs. 

“Ooh! Desdemona! Deacon! You’re not having an impotant meeting without me, I hope?” 

His heart thuds at the sight of her, it’s been over a week since he last saw her, and he’s missed her. Oh  _ God  _ he’s missed her bad. He gulps down some water and smiles, outstretching his arms to his Sole Survivor. His personal brand of Med-X. 

He supposed Vanessa was more like Psycho than Med-X. Med-X addictions didn’t have many dangerous side-effects, whereas Psycho addictions were renowned for making sufferers cough up blood and inevitably die. 

She throws herself into his arms and it almost winds his already struggling lungs. He buries his face in her hair, she smells faintly of fever blossoms and cigarette smoke. “Never, Charms. We were just chatting about nothing important, you ready to get going?” 

She giggles her usual, musical laugh, and let’s go of him. Deacon swore her hands stayed on him for a little longer than necessary. 

“What’s the mission?” 

“Just clearing out some raiders, as much as the Institute is now destroyed, there are still groups out there who aren’t the biggest fans of synths, this group of raiders have a synth held hostage…” 

Who knew the catacombs could be so hot? A bead of sweat rolled down his temple and the side of his face and he narrowly resisted the urge to begin fanning himself with his hands. His eyes glazed over, they were heavy, drooping, and everything was moving around before his very eyes. Colours, shapes, textures, faces, they all blurred together into one big mess. Like those weird abstract paintings Vanessa hoarded over at Red Rocket. 

“Dee?  _ Deacon _ ! Are you coming? Bloody ‘ell he’s away with the fairies.” 

“You sounded so much more British there.” 

Deacon’s head jerked up towards the sound, where his Charmer was looking at him wide eyed, a smirk tugging at the corners of her shiny red lips. He looked around the room. He was in the catacombs. He was about to go on a mission with Charmer, he was being sent out by Desdemona. He looked over at the Railroad leader, who was watching him with one eyebrow raised. She gave him a look that said he needed to talk to the other agent, but he ignored it, literally brushing it off as he dusted off his jeans, forcing a bright smile. 

_ His throat tickled. _

Vanessa outstretched a hand in his direction, “raiders?” He nods, scrunching his nose for a moment and checking his sunglasses were firmly on his face before he took her hand, “raiders”. 

Deacon swore he could hear gunfire, he then felt Vanessa tackle him to the ground. The spy’s gaze rolled to hers, his sunglasses were on the ground besides him, knocked off from the force. Why was it so  _ bright  _ in the catacombs? Why was she  _ tackling him  _ in the catacombs?

“Deacon are you  _ trying  _ to get yourself killed?” She sounds shrill, and panicked. Her bottom lip is swollen, and he pokes it, “want me to kiss that better?” She scowls at him and both his hands shoot up defensively. There is still gunfire and explosions in the background. “What is  _ wrong  _ with you today, Dee? You’re completely up in the clouds. I’m trying to fight raiders  _ and  _ keep you alive over here.”

Fight raiders? But they hadn’t even left the catacombs yet? 

_ Oh. _

_ They had. _

Flashes of events speed through his mind. Her laughing and pulling him through Boston whilst holding his hand. Raiders jumping out at them from behind an old building, one punching her straight in the jaw. That explained the swollen lip. He ran his thumb over her lip again, and she sighed, getting up off him, “stay there,” she murmurs gently, reloading her pistol, “I’ll deal with the raiders.” 

His Charmer’s eyes left his face for a moment, just long enough to shoot a raider charging at her right between the eyes. He wasn’t aware of how much her aim had improved, she was so different to the curvy, soft, short haired woman he’d watched emerge from that vault over a year ago. She was strong, and scarred, and brave, and  _ just _ as beautiful. 

He admired her. 

He sat up and watched her as she pulled out her sword carving into the onslaught of raiders, not flinching at the massacre, only reacting when she had to step around bodies and bits of gore. 

But she didn’t notice the raider clutching the scoped pipe rifle, who was preparing a shot on her. Deacon could see him lining up the shot right with her chest, his first thought was how stupid it was that he wasn’t aiming for her head. His second thought was much less rational, as he ran out in front of her, taking the bullet to his stomach. He heard her scream as his knees hit the ground. 

He awoke with a start, blood rushing in his ears. The spy studied his surroundings for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. 

Birds flew overhead. Tinker Tom always said they were Institute spies, but the Institute was long gone. Weren’t they? 

“Deacon! Can you come and give me a hand please, love?” 

Was that Vanessa? 

The beautiful blonde woman waved at him from the window, and pulled the shutters closed, disappearing inside the house. He recognised it now, that was her old home in Sanctuary, from before the war. It had been patched up much better than he remembered it. Dogmeat barked at him from the doghouse on her lawn.  _ Their _ lawn? 

“Yeah, I’m coming Charms,” he walked inside the house and heard her laughter, “you don’t need to use my codename anymore Dee, we aren’t with the Railroad anymore, remember?” He furrowed his brow, looking around for her, she smiled over her shoulder at him, “we’re not?” She laughs again, shifting something she was holding as she stirred a pot of soup on the electric stove. He’d forgotten Sanctuary had electricity and plumbing, he was so used to eating pre-war scraps cooked over an open fire and drinking dirty water. 

“No  _ silly _ , the Railroad and Minutemen united and took down the Institute together, this was months ago,” she giggles and puts her wooden spoon on the counter, turning to face him, “you’ve been sleeping in the sun for too long again love,” she smiles and puts the back of her hand to his head. It’s then that he realises what it is that she’s holding. 

“Ch- _ Vanessa,  _ who’s… is that Mac’s kid? Duncan?” 

She frowns even more and pulls the child close to her chest, “you really  _ have  _ been in the sun too long. Do I need to start mothering you again? Is it not enough that I must mother our child? You’re not  _ jealous  _ are you Deacon?” She laughs and puts a hand on the back of his head, pushing it down so she can kiss his forehead. 

“Queenie, you wanna go to Daddy?” 

It’s all too much for him to process at once. Their child? Had the last few months been some oddly fucked up dream? Maybe she’d never gone to Nuka World. Maybe Nuka World didn’t even  _ exist,  _ it couldn’t, because here she was, wearing a pink floral dress with a… no,  _ their  _ child in her arms, a gold ring on a dainty chain around her neck. 

“Queenie…” He repeats, as she puts the baby in his arms. His chest swells with pride as she looks up at him, a mess of ginger hair sprouting from her head, those big grey eyes he loved so tenderly staring up at him. “I still can’t believe you wanted to call her Gethesmane,” Vanessa laughs tenderly, “our little miracle and you wanted to call her that.” 

“Miracle?” 

Vanessa hums and nods, returning to her cooking, “I like to call her that, I don’t think I ever told you. Things were… complicated when we first found out, don’t you remember? Child born of our secret love affair,” she chuckles, and Deacon drops his gaze back to the pink cheeked baby in his arms, “and then she survived all that radiation from the Glowing Sea, and I hadn’t even known she was in there,” she pats her slightly rounded tummy, “she’s mummy’s little tough cookie. I was so startled when Cade told us that I didn’t even have time to think about how likely a miscarriage could’ve been.” 

Her voice cracks, and Deacon spins her around, pulling her into his chest, Queenie safely nestled in the crook of one of his arms. This was so perfect, but so…  _ wrong.  _ The foetus Vanessa had inside her when they went to the Glowing Sea  _ was  _ his, but it  _ had _ died. Cade and the Brotherhood scribes were  _ certain  _ of it. Even Doctor Carrington confirmed it. 

But just as Deacon finds himself content with just ignoring all these many impossibilities and accepting this perfect world, a cough tears through his body, petals spray from his mouth. Vanessa pulls away, and takes their child from his arms, “you need to come back to me, Deacon.” 

“What?” 

“ _ Please.  _ Please don’t leave me behind.” 

“Vanessa, I’m right here, what are you talking about?” 

His voice raises in pitch, he’s growing frantic and as he reaches out for her cheek his hand passes right through her again. 

“ _ Please,  _ stay with me, Dee…” 

“I want to, Charms, I want to  _ so badly.”  _

He wants to stay. He wants to stay. He wants to stay. He wants to-

It’s far too bright again, and there’s a ringing in his ears. His limbs are heavy with the familiar feeling off too many stimpaks, and his face feels wet. He wrinkles his nose and opens his eyes, and isn’t met with the sight he wants. 

It’s the blushing face of his Charmer, but instead of flushed with love, it’s from crying. Tears stream down her cheeks and drop onto his face. Her breath hitches when she notices him looking up at her, and the noise she makes is almost like the snarl of a yao guai. 

“What the  _ bloody hell  _ are you playing at Deacon? Jumping in front of a bullet for me, you knew I had the ballistic weaving on, I could’ve taken it!” She huffs and rests her forehead against his. He can’t get any words out, this world he finds himself in now is far too jarring compared to the last, and all he can focus on is her shaky sobs as he pieces together what’s going on. 

“You could’ve  _ died,  _ Deacon.”

“I’m already dying.” 

She rolls her eyes and pulls away, still cradling his head in her lap. “Deacon I’m not in the mood for your jokes, or  _ lies.  _ So if you’re going to tell me you’ve got the  _ blue-flu  _ or  _ I’m-so-funny-itis,  _ do not even bother.” “I’m not joking!” He retorts, and she holds up a hand, “Deacon you’re  _ not dying,  _ I’ve used five stimpaks on you,” he chuckles and it falls away into a wheezing breath, “I know, I can feel it… Seriously though, Vanessa I’m not messing with you, I  _ am  _ dying.” 

He never used her proper name. Especially not when he was joking. Her whole body tensed, he could feel it. 

“Deacon what the  _ hell _ are you talking about?” Her voice was getting shrill already, as it always did when she began to panic, and one of her shaking hands found his cheek. 

“It’ll be any day now,” he swallows, trying to stop the coughing before it begins. 

He fails. 

A flower is forced out onto his chest, and Vanessa picks it up with her free, shaking hand. She knows what it means, she doesn’t even need to look at the tiny rose for any longer than a second. 

“ _ Dee,”  _ she croaks, those beautiful eyes full of tears. This was the  _ last  _ thing he wanted. 

A droplet of his blood rolls from one of the petals and falls in the palm of her hand. She drops the rose as though it might bite or sting her, staring at the blood for a moment. “Why didn’t you  _ tell me?  _ I might be the only person who  _ understands,  _ who’s been through the same thing! I could’ve helped you find a doctor, I… I still  _ can!”  _

They both know it’s too late for that. But her saying she’s been through it? That’s new information? 

His throat is too sore to get the words out, but a sad look in his eyes and his hand lightly touching her cheek tells her all she needs to know. 

“My husband… Nathaniel…” She sighs, “I didn’t think I loved him either, but the petals told us both a  _ whole different story,”  _ she chuckles weakly, sniffling and rubbing his cheekbone with her thumb, “he was furious because I… I was pregnant with Shaun by that point. I got the surgery because I could’ve killed our baby. Nate couldn’t even love me to save the life of our child.” 

Beads of tears dripped from her eyelashes onto his cheeks, “what can I do, Deacon?” 

“Can we… can we go back to Red Rocket? And stay there? Just me and you?” 

She smiles tenderly and kisses his forehead, holding in sobs as best as she can, plucking his cracked sunglasses from the ground and tucking them into his jeans. 

  
  


*

HQ is silent. It’s late at night. Most of the agents are sleeping. Desdemona is sat in a chair smoking a cigarette, Tinker Tom is typing away at his terminal as quietly as he can. 

Charmer moves through the old church silently, and then through the HQ. She’s traded in her heels for her comfy black boots, the ones she got from Vault tech. She’s wearing black too, it’s an outfit she made herself from an old courser jacket, with a pair of black leather pants.

What is less silent is the weak sob she lets out, and then the scratch of chalk on the board. A white line cuts through Deacon’s name, and the piece of chalk clatters to the ground as she staggers backwards. 

She can’t keep in the sound anymore, and begins to howl and sob in desperation, dropping to the ground, arms wrapped around herself.

Charmer has killed many since she found herself in the Wasteland, but she never thought she’d kill her best friend. 


End file.
